


Sanctuary

by Penpenw



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue Lions centric, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt, Post-Time Skip, Time Travel, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penpenw/pseuds/Penpenw
Summary: As Byleth settles into her new reality, a continent gripped by war and a friend consumed by hate, her Divine Pulse begins to wander without her knowledge. At the same time, Dimitri's already fragile mental state is cause for more concern as he begins appearing without warning, speaking of events long since passed as though they had just happened.





	1. Chapter One

Dimitri was broken, utterly and completely. Byleth had understood that this would come to pass eventually. While she was hardly an expert on emotion, she could feel it like a ripple in a shallow pond; with each death, with each betrayal, the pond had become a tsunami. She had hoped that she could reach out, provide stability, when they had regained control of Garreg Mach but that was a stillborn dream. She knew it was foolish to even think of that at the time but what else could she do – Edelgard’s declaration of war left little time to provide anything other than the basest companionship. Now, as she appraised Dimitri, she felt like she had failed. This was her only failure and, yet, it was her most catastrophic.

But what could she have done? In the midst of battle, she fell and fell. And then, suddenly, she stood tall in the ruins of the life she had constructed as though she had been ripped from sleep by an astral tug. Despite her apparent mental ability, she could not comprehend the true extent of what she bore witness to. Garreg Mach, destroyed. Her students – her friends – hardened adults. And Dimitri.

Oh Dimitri.

He stalked the cathedral, an angry ghost. When approached, he would glare and stalk away. When he did speak he spoke only of revenge, only of Edelgard’s death by his hands. He near frothed at the mouth imaging it. If only she could carry herself back five years, perhaps she could solve this before it had even began. It ached heavy at her heart. The experience of such a feeling was new, fresh, since the death of Jeralt. She found it incredibly difficult to bear. Despite her near endless responsibilities, this felt the hardest.

A child, likely an orphan from some battle that no-doubt claimed far too many innocents, bumped into Dimitri’s leg, distracted by something in the distance. Her stomach lurched and she began to approach, her reflexes moving before her mind could understand. The child, realizing his mistake, turned slowly upward to face the phantom. The phantom, in turn, looked to him. Byleth quickened her pace.

To her surprise, however, Dimitri turned his gaze away and stalked off as though the child were nothing but the wind. Byleth stood where he had been moments ago, feeling lost. The child quivered in fear. Gingerly, then gently, Byleth patted his head and smiled toward the child. It was not an altogether convincing effort, her muscles felt odd pantomiming the movement, but it seemed to calm the child’s fear. Realizing himself, the child bowed and ran off as quickly as he could muster, leaving Byleth to gaze at Dimitri’s towering figure disappearing to some shadow.

Byleth had recently begun to take her dinner, as meager as it was, in her father’s old office. She claimed it was the planning but, in truth, she wanted the peace. Solitude is not something often afforded to a general of a haphazard army. If she wasn’t dealing with supply shortages or battle tactics, she was counseling her friends. She loved them all so very dearly but it was tiring to be everything for everyone. She didn’t even have much concept of what she was to herself in this hellscape, if she ever had. She gazed from the window, her dinner sitting uneaten on her desk. A waste. How had the world crumpled so entirely in five years? She could not muster an answer that was satisfying to her.

In the darkening sky, she could see a figure lurking away toward the entrance of the monastery. She knew this to be Dimitri without much thought. When he wasn’t darkening the cathedral, he would disappear into the night, like a vampire in search of a victim. She mused that he wasn’t far from it, considering the state he would return. She felt a tug of concern at the thought him not returning but did her best to ignore it. She failed completely. Irritation bloomed. If only she could compartmentalize these unnecessary wanderings, perhaps she could be of some actual use.

“Professor,” A voice said at the door.

“Seteth, I told you I’m no longer a professor.” She said with some annoyance twinging the edge of her voice. “Just call me Byleth.”

Seteth nodded but remained at the threshold of the doorway, once again irritating her.

“Dammit, Seteth, just come in. I am in no mood to play manners with you.” She snapped and felt herself recoil instantly. These new emotions were difficult to contend with.

The sigh that escaped her was enough apology she could muster. As Seteth entered, she sunk into her chair, tucking her forehead into her palm. He stood at the end of her desk, stoic concern flashing over his eyes. He was trying, and often succeeding, at being the advisor she needed. His experience was invaluable, and she often discussed her plans with him in great detail. His bedside manner was hardly warm but comforting all the same. It was odd to think that Flayn was his daughter.

“Pro-Byleth,” Seteth began, doing his best to concede to her wishes. “You seem at odds.”

“I am at odds.” She said in a moment of frailty. “This is a hard reality to swallow.”

She did wish Seteth would sit.

“It has only been over a month since your return,” Seteth’s voice had a calming ring to it that she allowed herself to lean into for a moment. “It is no surprise that you are having difficulties adjusting.”

It had been over a month? It felt much longer to her. She paused, letting the realization crawl over her. It was one thing to stare at a calendar and another to hear it spoken. It seemed indicative of other issues, ones that she had difficulty explaining. In some moments, she felt time shift in her, little zaps as though she were pinched by a mage skilled with thunder. While she had complete control of her Divine Pulse on the battlefield, other times it seemed to wander away from her, like a distracted dog searching for a scent. Byleth hoped it was the cropping of emotions rather than anything else. 

“Yes, well,” Byleth regained herself. “You were here for a reason and I imagine that wasn’t discussing my mood. What did you want to speak to me about?”

“It is about Dimitri.”

She felt herself hollow slightly. This wasn’t the first time he had come up nor would it be the last. With the soon-to-be king scaring children and disappearing into the night, talk about his fitness was common. How she wished she could defend him beyond the platitudes expected of her. More importantly, how she wished he would return to them. _To her_, a voice whispered from somewhere deep inside of her that she skillful avoided. If he would only reach out the slightest, perhaps she could pull him from drowning.

“What about Dimitri?” Her voice was strained.

Seteth furrowed his brow, concern and frustration becoming more apparent.

“His Highness is suffering, there is no use disputing this.” Seteth began. “And if we weren’t engaged in war, perhaps he could get the respite he requires. But we are at war and respite is no option, unless we take drastic action.”

Byleth nodded solemnly. She knew where this was going. It wasn’t as though the thought had occurred to her. Dimitri was hard to predict in battle. While he had listened, it seemed begrudgingly at best and borderline frightening at worst. Murder did not seem the best way to cure the killer.

“I understand Seteth,” She said distantly. “But we cannot afford to lose him at this moment. We are too short of elites. We are struggling to keep up with protecting the surrounding areas around Garreg Mach as it is. Sylvain and Ingrid are at their wits end already with skirmishes in just in the forty kilometer radius. Their battalions will soon become too small to be much good. Dimitri is a resource that we cannot let go.”

It hurt her to speak of him like this, like a pawn in a long game.

Seteth’s face was unreadable as he nodded. “If you feel it is best, I will trust in your judgement. I wish only to bring attention to areas of concern.”

There was a long pregnant pause. Byleth wanted to confide in him all her own concerns, release them from herself and onto another. Perhaps the weight would lift then. But it was a selfish thought and she knew it to be so. These were her burdens to carry. Her penitence.

Seteth must have felt her anticipation for he gazed down at her expectantly. It was a look filled with worry but quiet respect. She had earned it those five years ago and, it seemed, that Seteth never forgot. She met his eyes briefly, almost pleadingly, but turned toward her cold dinner stew.

“Was there anything else, Seteth? I best eat my dinner before it becomes solid.”

It was clear that he had come with the intention to speak more but, upon seeing her in such a state, decided against it. It was kindness that Byleth wasn’t sure she wanted – the issues would remain, whether she was in the mood to deal with them. In the moment, she allowed herself the reprieve and did not pester him to explain himself further. It was likely she would regret this decision tomorrow when he would no doubt call on her in the early morning to discuss some important business.

“That is all. Enjoy your dinner.” He stated finally, turning toward the door.

She stared at the stew – venison with some sort of root vegetable. It was not unappetizing but the thought of eating it caused her stomach to twist. The sensation lead to that spark, that zap, as the Pulse wandered without her consent. Without much consideration, she spoke while her eyes remained on the stew, heat quickly escaping.

“Seteh,” She said before he had closed her door. “Is there much discussion of time travel in Church literature?”

He stepped into the room once more, looking curious.

“You mean your Divine Pulse? Your gift from the goddess?” He clarified.

She nodded. Seteth was one of the few to know of this “gift” as a higher member of the Church. After her miraculous return, Byleth now one with Sothis, it was instructed to her that somethings were meant to be kept behind closed doors. Byleth supposed that time travel was too powerful of a secret to let loose onto the world. She was not in a position to argue.

“There is some but not much,” Seteth continued. “Why might you ask?”

Her eyes returned to Seteth, goosebumps still trailing down her arms from the zap. It was unpleasant.

“Will it leave me one day?” Byleth wasn’t sure what she was trying to ask but tried again. “Will it someday drift off?”

Seteth stood, contemplating her question. That deep crease in his forehead appeared, a sign that showed itself whenever he dove into deep thought. She wondered sometimes how much knowledge he held in his mind. Despite his steadfast presence, there was much mystery surrounding him. But he had proven himself trustworthy time and time again. Byleth could hardly question him about what he wished to keep to himself.

“While I cannot say with absolute certainty,” He explained, a finger pressed to his chin. “I do not think it unreasonable. The gifts of the goddess are as temperamental as a stubborn winter’s chill; they will remain for as long as it is deemed fit but will depart with slightest provocation.”

_The slightest provocation_. She ruminated on the words well after Seteth had departed, leaving her to her desired but empty silence. _Slightest provocation_. Had something gone awry in her fall through time? Had she pushed too hard? Had her emotions filled the void that had once allowed the Pulse to reside in her. She could not say, which made her irritated once more. Standing, she twisted her neck, rubbing it with her calloused hands. There was much that she could not answer and, with ever passing moment, the answers slipped further from his clenched hands.

She gazed from her window. The sun had set completely then, the only lights remaining being the lanterns on the monastery grounds. Pools of light stood in stark contrast to the dark with only the odd passing person to cast shadows in their midst. Her eyes traced the path Dimitri had taken. Everything felt distant to her then. Everything that mattered.

Dimitri hunted. He did not know what for but the yearning quaked in his bones. The night was for the voices, screaming and howling in his mind. He needed to hunt to quell them. His muscles were stiff and tight as he stalked through the forest, his ears enough sense to allow him to traverse without light. He had spent much time in the dark these five years to realize that light only brought more unwanted attention. The loss of his only compounded the intensity of his hearing. He desired to kill without sound, to inflict injury without the prey knowing that he had even existed.

His fingers tensed around the hilt of his lance. He was burning.

The grounds surrounding the castle offered little most nights to quench his thirst. The security offered by the guards, not to mention the efforts of Sylvain and Ingrid, meant that it was largely peaceful. He despised it. Remaining still made the burning hurt, made the pain searing on his skin. Ever since _she _had returned, he was without his ability to quiet them. To please them.

_She _had returned, in the light of the morning sun, as soft as his scattered memories had impressed. Ivory skin, emerald eyes. Gentle. She made them angry and so he was angry. When he looked at her, they screamed. When she spoke, they clawed.

Footsteps in the distance. His head snapped toward the sound. Westward. He lurched forward, his body becoming as small as he could make it while still moving. The sound had not been far off, perhaps a few hundred meters. He moved like a wolf hunting prey, carefully and silently. As he approached, he saw the glinting of cheap armour. A group of them stood in a clearing, quietly traversing without a word. Dimitri squatted at the edge of the forest, watching. These were not Church soldiers, nor were they bandits. They were passing merchants, perhaps. The war allowed little coin to be thrown their way and their appearance reflected as such. In the moonlight, he allowed himself to truly see where he was stood.

He realized, very distantly, that this was the field that they had held their mock battle on all those years ago. A quiet voice, one that was rarely heard above the rest, enjoyed the memory. It had been a moment of joy. She had led them into battle and they had won. An omen of things to come.

He was infuriated. Rage boiled in his blood. She was the cause of these ruminations. They only sought to distract him from the truth of what he really was: a murderer. Pretending otherwise was akin to blasphemy. The voices pushed him forward. He had to silence them somehow. The figures in the darkness were not aware that he was there which allowed him a quick, satisfying kill. Despite his rage, he stalked forward, using the long shadows cast by the ruins to offer him cover.

This would be his first kill without threat. His first real descent into what he had denied himself. That distant voice cried out. It begged. He ignored it and continued forward.

He was just meters away when he felt his skin rise as though he had been hit with a shock. Waves of sensation radiated up through his neck and into his scalp, disorienting him. He pressed a gloved hand to the back of his neck in an attempt to feel what had caused the feeling, but it was for naught. There was nothing to feel except his bare skin. Suddenly, the shock radiated through him once more causing a low sound to gurgle from his mouth. His body refused to move further, and he fell to the ground, causing his lance hit the dirt with a sharp noise.

The figures, startled, looked toward the hulking figure in the dark. He must have looked frightening then, a hunched man bathed in darkness. Realizing the danger, they reared their horses back and sprinted into the night, leaving a cacophony of sound behind.

Dimitri’s rage burned through his veins. He could not even meet such a simple task. He failed once again as he had so many times. He willed himself to bellow into the night but no sound came. Another shock rolled through him, paralyzing him. Struggling, he fell to his back, his eye looking toward the dark sky above. Darkness slipped over his vision before he felt a deep snap in the back of his mind and he was falling.

The warmth of the dining hall was like a blanket over his shoulders. The satisfaction of a hard day’s work pleased him endlessly and he could scarcely remove the grin from his face. Not that he wanted to. They had thoroughly trounced the Black Eagle and Golden Deer houses that day in a victory so successful that it amazed even the faculty. Edelgard had moped from the battleground, Hubert striding beside her. He felt a sense of glib superiority despite himself. Seeing the beaming faces of his classmates only pleased him more. As they laughed and shared stories, he allowed himself to pull back for a moment, if only to observe.

Annette and Mercedes were sharing a conversation with Ingrid over the sweets provided while Dedue provided brief commentary. Sylvain and Felix were bickering about some move they had performed in battle while Ingrid attempted to mediate unsuccessfully. It was growing late into the evening then and other students were filing out of the hall one by one. It wouldn’t be long until the Blue Lion House were the only members sitting there, cheerfully appreciating one another’s company.

His eyes fell to their relatively new professor. While he had been impressed with her capabilities before, the battle that day had sealed an immense respect for her. She had deftly commanded them to victory without so much as a pause. It was a sight to behold. Haneman and Manuela seemed dwarfed compared to her insight on the battlefield.

Despite this, she appeared somber. While she smiled at the appropriate moments and provided jests when Sylvain made an untoward comment, it felt restrained. Dimitri had noticed her withdrawn attitude before but had innocently assumed it to be nerves. She was incredibly young to hold such an esteemed position. Now, basking in the good humour of his classmates, he could see that it was not merely shyness. There was a lacking behind her blue eyes. Her movements seemed rehearsed as though she were going through the motions. Despite this, she was graceful in her movements something that had caught his attention very early on. He was often enraptured watching her teach.

She caught his gaze and he felt himself flush. It was rude to stare.

“What’s got you so uptight, Dimitri?”

Sylvain had broken away from his debate with Felix, the latter sitting crossed arm and bearing a murderous look. Dimitri felt the flush on his cheek deepen slightly. He so did hate to be caught like this.

“N-nothing,” He stammered. “It’s nothing.”

Sylvain leaned forward raising an eyebrow as he did so. He spoke quietly but not as quietly as Dimitri had hoped.

“Hot for teacher, eh?” Sylvain grinned. “Don’t blame you on that.”

Dimitri’s back went straight. He glared at his friend, taking a quick glance toward Byleth. She was speaking to Mercedes now. A serene smile played upon her lips as she listened. He hoped, desperately, that she had not heard Sylvain’s comment.

“Was that necessary?” Dimitri hissed.

Sylvain did not take the chided as he had hoped. Instead, he looked proud of himself. Leaning back, he raised his hands in a defensive position as though to say: didn’t mean to push a button. Dimitri eyed Felix sitting beside Sylvain. He had most certainly overheard but wore the same unimpressed look as he always did. It was clear that this apparent slight only added to his low opinion of the future king.

“Which do you prefer, Dimitri?” Annette had turned her attention to him. “Sweet or salty foods?”

He felt grateful for the interruption.

Soon the yawning became too much to ignore and the classmates gathered themselves up, intent on bed. Annette’s eyes were struggling to remain open so she lazily leaned her head against Mercedes’ shoulder, arm in arm, as they wandered away. Ingrid had dragged both Sylvain and Felix off as they continued to bicker – although Sylvain hardly looked upset.

What a wonderful evening it had been. He smiled toward Dedue, who stood beside him. Dedue, despite his lack of reaction, seemed more relaxed than usual. It made Dimitri feel more at ease as well. In his life in the castle, especially since Duscur, he had seldom felt warmth such as he did that night. Everyone held themselves far away, speaking in curt sentences and nods. While he had everything provided for him he rarely felt comfortable. Tonight had allowed him to feed a very cold part of his soul and he would likely never forget.

The movement of Byleth caught his attention. She was walking in the other direction from others. Confused, Dimitri stopped his progress.

“Are you heading to bed, professor?” He asked as Dedue waiting patiently.

“I must speak to my father first.” She commented. “But please, don’t wait on my account. You worked very hard today and deserve to have a restful sleep.”

This didn’t sit well with Dimitri. It was approaching midnight. His life of formality had brought with it a sense of gentlemanly attitude toward women, no matter how capable, walking alone at night.

“Allow me to escort you and –“ He raised his hand when she began to protest. “I will not take no for an answer.”

She relented, as did Dedue when Dimitri dismissed him, although Dimitri suspected he would not be too far behind. The two of them made their way through the quiet halls with very little conversation. It was often this way with the professor; only speaking when spoken to. But Dimitri didn’t mind the lack of idle conversation. He found her presence to be quite relaxing in a way, as though he did not have to put up pretenses in order to meet social expectations. The odd passing monk or guard regarded them with mild interest. Typically there was a curfew in place for students but it had been waved for the Blue Lion House that evening. Dimitri supposed that old habits died hard and the guards found their presence to be noteworthy.

Jeralt’s office door was closed but light spilled out from beneath the wood. He was still up but it was not overly surprising. Dimitri commended the man for his commitment. He rarely had the opportunity to speak with Jeralt but he was well respected. He wore the admiration in a humbly, if not exhaustedly. His daughter seemed like a far cry from him. Dimitri eyed her one last time before they reached the door. She was a marvel in the strangest ways. He wished he could understand her more, to hear the ways she combed out battle plans. Not only that, he wished to hear how she viewed her students, her father, her life. Her thoughts on the dining hall food. If she enjoyed fishing. He was so deeply interested that he felt a tug in his chest. He had a million questions and no way to verbalize.

“Thank you Dimitri, that was very kind of you to escort me.” Blyeth said with a polite but flat tone.

He tipped his head toward her. She had informed him numerous time not to bow. She was not used to the formality and preferred to be treated as an equal. Years of being in the trenches, Dimitri supposed.

“The pleasure was mine, professor.” Dimitri replied.

Light filled the corridor as she opened the door. He heard Jeralt make a sound of greeting. Despite himself, Dimitri stepped closer to the threshold of the door and asked:

“Do you prefer sweet or salty foods, professor?” He asked.

He felt like an absolute fool. What an inane question to ask in that moment but his body had propelled him forward, to ask something, anything. Annette’s question from earlier that evening was the first to rise and he felt his cheeks burn as soon as the words tumbled from his lips.

She smiled that hollow smile and he thought that, perhaps, there was flicker of something behind her eyes beyond the flat façade she exuded. He would ruminate on it for days to follow.

“Salty.” She responded, closing the door as she did so, her eyes remaining on his. “Goodnight –“

Suddenly the warm light of the office disappeared, the boyish flush upon his cheeks gone. The monastery echoed with the silence that came from lack of inhabitation. Something in the distance dripped. Dripped. Dripped. Dimitri stared at the office door, unable to comprehend where he was or what had happened. He felt strangely cold. The cold he had felt as a young boy dragged from bed for lessons on a fall’s morning. He felt it in his bones, his muscles, his skin. It was as though he had woken from a dream.

Before he could understand, the office door ripped open and Byleth stood, her dagger ready. She was disheveled and had clearly been sleeping, a deep impression mark on her face where her cheek had met her arm. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the hallway’s darkened light but quick recognition spread across her features.

“Dimitri?” She asked, shocked.

“Professor?” Dimitri asked confused. “What – where? –“

His mind tumbled over what was happening. Hadn’t Jeralt been there just a moment ago? Where was the sound? Why did everything feel so different?

Hesitantly, Byleth approached Dimitri, her body language conveying deep confusion. Also a great deal of apprehension. She was approaching as though she could retreat to a defensive position at a moment’s notice. She looked as though she were approaching a wounded animal that might lash out at any moment.

“Are you alright?” She asked softly. “Are you hurt?”

This was overwhelming and his mind was failing to catch up.

“Am I hurt?” He asked, baffled. “I had walked you back to your father’s office after dinner and I said something terribly foolish and I –”

“The dinner after our first mock battle.” Byleth interrupted, a certain amount of understanding creeping into her voice. “Dimitri, that was nearly –“

She stopped herself, somehow thinking better than to continue, but it was too late. A hand had went to his forehead and he felt his longer hair, his eye patch, his angular features. Six years had passed. And, with the impact of a harsh strike to the chest, the voices returned. Not only did they return, they were all screaming, all at once. He felt himself buckle at the knees. Byleth came forward but he pushed her harshly away. Her mouth opened to speak once more but he glared into her, desperation clouding his senses. He could not hear her voice in the sea of others. Grabbing her arm with too much strength, he yanked her toward him. He could snap her if he so willed it. The voices certainly wished it. She winced but her own eyes bore into his, confusion, concern and hurt intermingling behind her emerald irises. He was reminded of that night, the way her smile almost looked genuine. How she had shown him the first signs of humanity.

Disgusted with himself, he released her. He could not snap her, could not harm her, no matter how the rage flowed through him. He stepped backward, further into the hallway, not daring to break eye contact. Then, he stalked off into the darkness that only came just before dawn, leaving Byleth reeling behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long while since I've written anything. Hope you enjoy and feel free to leave a comment letting me know your thoughts!


	2. Chapter Two

“You’ve looked better.”

Byleth started, instinctively reaching for the dagger at her side, eyes flashing to the source. Sylvain stood not too far off, hands lifted apologetically. She relaxed. It was her fault for drifting into thought so heavily. She was meant to be observing troop training, not dawdling on unproductive thoughts. Her exchange with Dimitri the previous night had left her baffled. It was almost as though he had returned for a moment. No, she corrected herself, it wasn’t a return. That wasn’t the Dimitri she remembered before she fell. That was a younger Dimitri. If his comment regarding the mock battle was an indicator of his mental state, it was only a month after they had met. Before Remire, before Jeralt died. Before everything went so horribly wrong.

“Professor?” Sylvain was approaching once again, albeit cautiously.

“Sorry, Sylvain.” Byleth apologized. “I’m just distracted.”

“Kind of gathered that from the face,” Sylvain said lightly. “And the almost being murdered thing.”

Byleth smiled, her eyes turning toward the training ground below. A mock skirmish was being held at the bottom of the hill that she and Sylvain stood upon. The lower generals called out troop movements as young men and women clashed with wooden instruments as Gilbert stood close by, his calculating eyes judging every movement. Demonstrations like these brought with them a heavy feeling in her stomach. While it was wooden weapons and padding now, it would only be a matter of time before real steel was brought against each individual below. She never felt properly prepared.

Gilbert’s eyes met hers, as though her thoughts reached him. He shared a grim face of understanding before turning his attention back to his duties.

“How is your battalion?” Byleth asked, watching a young man attempt a strike only to be undercut. “The last report I read was concerning.”

Sylvain sighed a little, standing at her side.

“Patrols have been…” Sylvain searched the sky for the correct word. “Less than ideal.”

Byleth internally sighed. Their numbers had been the most difficult resource to manage. While they were initially bolstered by the devout and Fodlan sympathizers, it was a limited supply. A supply they were quickly draining.

“Ingrid?” Byleth pressed.

“Lost Genevieve to an arrow yesterday.” Sylvain said solemnly.

Byleth winced internally. A young woman stabbed with her lance, knocking another to the ground. Startled, she left herself open to a soft tipped arrow to her shoulder. Byleth turned her eyes to a flock of birds flying into the afternoon sky.

“But, prof-Byleth.” Sylvain correct his earlier mistake. “We can discuss details later. You doing okay?”

She looked at him, his features marked with sympathy. He understood her position as much as he could. They all did. Although she doubted that anyone could fully appreciate her sleepless nights, the churning in her stomach. That was not even to mention the constant goosebumps that had haunted her since the exchange with Dimitri. The hairs on the back of her neck refused to relax and it was growing tiresome.

“I’m fine.” She said, faking a smile. An old habit.

“Then would you be against joining me for dinner this evening?” Sylvain asked, a wry smirk appearing.

Byleth, despite herself, laughed. It felt strange to laugh without willing it, without forcing it as she once had. It was still a wonderful surprise when it happened. For a moment, a warm look of surprise passed over Sylvain’s features but disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

“As much as I would like to,” She said genuinely. “I have work to do.”

Gilbert cried, marking the end of the mock skirmish. World weary, he approached the battlefield. She tried not to think about all the mistakes he would list off.

“It can’t be good for you – for the _cause_ – not to have a break every once in awhile.” Sylvain elbowed her arm. “C’mon, it’ll be good for you.”

How many days had she fallen asleep at her desk? She, truthfully, had lost count. The thought of taking a small break seemed particularly appealing then, considering how tightly wound she had been that day. She weighed the decision as she watched Gilbert instruct on proper technique to the group. Sylvain waited expectantly at her side.

“Alright.” Byleth relented. “Dinner sounds good.”

Sylvain’s eye lit up. He clearly had not expected her to agree. They worked out the details – dining hall, six o’clock – as the soldiers below regrouped into new formations. Gilbert stood closer this time, arms fiercely crossed over his chest, calling out whenever he spotted a mistake.

“Wear something nice!” Sylvain said as he departed. “Pretend we’re not at war for once.”

Byleth wasn’t sure she had anything “nice”.

Dimitri hadn’t slept. Dimitri hadn’t eaten.

He had roamed initially, wandering aimlessly in the dawn trying to tease out what had happened. It was difficult at first considering how agitated he had been. But as the day crept from morning to early afternoon, a part of him stilled and he was able to think clearly. Day offered some sanity for him. The night brought with it a sense of turbulence that was oppressive. The sun at least dispelled the darkness enough that he could breathe.

That sense of electricity under his skin felt like an itch. It radiated from his neck down his arms into his palms. Strangely, it was not painful. It was calmingly consistent.

At some point that Dimitri could not place, he had returned to his room. The eyes of others upon him was too much of burden. He could not face the image of himself reflected in their faces, the fear dug deeply. Hunched over his desk as he had once done as a young man preparing for exams, his mind traced over the details. Unlike the times when he had slipped into delirium in the past, where everything had felt malleable and hazy, the slip back to the night following the mock battle had felt so very solid. His hand traced the edge of the desk, confirming his understanding. It could not have been a dream. The hand turned to a fist and slammed it down on the desk in frustration. He heard something snap in the old wood.

A pull in him demanded that _she_ had done this somehow. Some misguided attempt to bring the “old” Dimitri back. A Dimitri that had been snuffed out long ago. But he knew that could not be the case. He had seen the confusion in her features. His old professor was many things but a liar she was not. The thought of that moment caused him to pause. The hurt in her eyes. His hand wrapped around her arm. He had come so close to harming her. Despite her strength, Dimitri was stronger. There was little doubt that a bruise would grow where he had gripped her. A great shame cast itself upon him.

She felt so fragile to him as though the slightest breeze might break her away into millions of little pieces. It was irrational. He had seen her best so many bandits, beasts and soldiers that was there was almost no concern for her capabilities.

And yet he could have broken her. In an instant, he could have killed her. His heart wrenched.

Boar Prince. He snorted ruefully. What an understatement.

He stilled, closing his eyes. In the distance, over the footsteps and idle chatter of the monastery, he could almost _feel_ her somehow. The tingling sensation heightened, rolling over his skin, causing the follicles to rise and the hairs to stand on their ends. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, but it was still so very foreign. It was not that unknown, Dimitri realized with mild interest, he had felt it before. In the field. Where it overwhelmed him.

He furrowed his brows, trying to understand what it was. The tighter he grasped, the further the answer seemed to slip away. As frustration began to build, so did the agitation. So did the murmuring, the low chatting he was used to. The voices didn’t always scream. Often, they hummed in the back of his mind, that sort of noise where specific syllables and words couldn’t be heard. He could always feel the voices were saying, however, and the more he grew agitated, so did they. It was a hopeless feeling when they began to fester, a sort of inevitability that felt like an endless dark pit in his stomach. It felt as though all he could do was allow them to consume him lest he be destroyed completely.

His eyes moved toward the window. The sun was sliding into the horizon, causing everything to bathed in a golden glow. Weary and aware that he had precious few hours to sleep, Dimitri collapsed onto his bed, making a feeble effort to remove what armour he had on his person. These questions would have to wait for another day. With the last bit of strength he could manage, he removed his eye patch, the skin on his thumb grazing over the scarred skin. The sensation was sickening and he groaned in disgust but could not manage to form any further thoughts. Instead, with the hum and mumble of the voices in his ear, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Byleth had been correct; she did not have “nice” clothes. She had three types of clothing: destroyed, comfortable and clean. She stared at her wardrobe, moving the items back and forth, as though something more suitable might magically appear. Perhaps the Sothis would deem it necessary. For a moment she thought of speaking to Mercedes. Her clothes were always so soft somehow but Mercedes always looked soft in general. Byleth had often wondered how her draping fabric might feel. Years of being on the road had not been conducive to “nice” clothing. Having suitable winter clothing was the best she could often hope for. The idea of clothing being strictly for presentation was a strange concept to her but, having spent so much time around nobles, a concept that she was learning to understand. Not for first time, nor the last, thoughts of Jeralt creeped into her mind. She wondered what he might say about her now and her quest for clothing. Would he laugh? Or would he think it a noble pursuit? She frowned. She would never know.

Deciding that her time was better spent elsewhere, Byleth pulled out an outfit that would fall safely under the “clean” category. She was sure that Sylvain would be unimpressed with the choice but there was almost so much she could do without pulling the monastery apart in the search of something suitable. The idea made her inwardly shrink.

After changing, she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked fine and that was fine. She could, however, see why she was receiving comments regarding her wellbeing. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and her cheeks were becoming gaunt. She wondered what Edelgard might look like, leading an entire country at war. Byleth only had a handful of soldiers to contend with. Oddly the thought of Edgelgard suffering alone in Enbarr sparked a hint of sympathy in her but that was quickly pushed off. No use in sympathy now.

Satisfied or, at least, somewhat satisfied, with the state of her looks, Blyeth exited her room and began the walk to the dining hall. The sun had largely set then, bringing with it a chill. Being so close to Fodlan brought with it cooler evenings even in the height of summer. She tucked her arms close to her chest despite enjoying the feeling. The cold felt more comfortable somehow.

A rolling sensation radiated through her skin. It was the Pulse. She knew it was wandering but, annoyed with how high strung she had been that day, she ignored it as best as she could. If it wanted to act liked a spoiled child, so be it. She had little patience for stunts. She could not ignore, however, the brief but aching headache that it left in its wake. Thankfully, the warmth of the dining hall dispelled much of the pain but a dull ache remained.

Sylvain was already there which Byleth found odd. He wasn’t exactly known for his timeliness to social engagements. She had recalled numerous stories of his many paramours complaining of his complete misunderstanding of time. Her surprise was doubled when she smelled the food being prepared. It was not their typical rations, rather, something much more decadent. Her eyes trailed to the kitchen curiously as Sylvain spotted her.

“You came!” Sylvain approached.

As advertised, he wore nicer clothing than his typical daily wear. Admittedly, they all often wore their armour on monastery grounds; it never felt completely safe. Still, the sight of seeing him without the shiny glint of steel put her off.

“I said I would.” Byleth replied, her voice kind.

“I’m relieved,” Sylvain continued and leaned in closer to whisper. “I paid a hefty sum to get us some better food than usual. I doubt I’ll recover for at least a month.”

Byleth was scandalized and her face reflected as such.

“Sylvain!” She chided. “This is completely unnecessary!”

He waved her off, leading her toward a table. A few others had migrated into the hall, guided by the rare scent of appetizing food, but were being shooed off by the kitchen staff. It seemed that Sylvain’s funds could only afford a dinner for two.

“We both needed a break so I figured, why not?” Sylvain explained as they sat.

Byleth could think of several reasons not to do this. Not the least of all being morale. She could see the faces of soldiers and monks alike as they left the hall. The optics certainly did not give a good impression. She had worked hard for the hierarchy to be as negligible as possible. But seeing Sylvain’s happy demanour caused her to bite her tongue. It had been done, there was little use raking him over the coals now. Tomorrow, on the other hand, he would not hear the end of it.

A lingering concern stayed with her, even as the food arrived, even as their conversation trailed from one topic to the next. Sylvain had even funded a bottle of wine, a luxury rarely afforded. The soldiers would drink moonshine from the farmers if they wanted a night out. A bottle of wine was something to be fawned over. This did not feel like a friendly dinner. She looked at Sylvain, calm and relaxed. This felt like a demonstration of some kind. The kind that made her feel uncomfortable. But she dismissed the thought as best as she could, digging into the food. It was hard to be too upset with a full belly of the best food she had since she woke up in this destroyed world. Besides, Sylvain was a flirt, but he wasn’t stupid. This was not the time for those sorts of moves.

Sylvain was easy to talk to -- years of reading the room had given him that talent. As such, they discussed whatever topics felt most natural but with a clear division: nothing of the war. Ingrid and Felix’s recent quibble. The social faux pas that the front gate guard – Byleth could never place his name – had done to a lower noble that had visited last week. It was easy, like it had been before. Byleth felt grateful but her anxiety nagged at the back of her mind. Or was that the headache that had been slowly radiating throughout the evening? They felt similar.

“You’ll be heading out tomorrow for another patrol, I think.” Byleth said when the conversation reached a pause. She could not help herself. “Two days, right?”

Sylvain nodded, making a noise of affirmation. He looked completely satisfied with his meal and not the least bit perturbed about the subject matter. Perhaps it had been the wine.

“That sounds right,” Sylvain’s voice was more of a mumble. “We’ll be going down to the village to the south of here. Reports of bandits harassing merchants.”

“Seems someone will always profit on the chaos of others.” She lamented.

Sylvain opened a singular eye to look at her. She envied his ability to fake such a carefree attitude. While she was not as easily tricked as others might be – the relaxed front was as constructed as any other social mask worn by any given noble – it was a skill that she wished she possessed. Even with a more thorough understanding of emotions, Byleth was often labeled as intimidating. Sylvain was disarmingly approachable.

“You’re getting that look.” Sylvain dropped his dreamy demeanor and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.

“What look?” Byleth returned, rattled out of her thoughts.

Sylvain knit his brows together dramatically and frowned. It took Byleth a moment to realize that he was mirroring her. Offended, she went to retort but found her features stuck in the exact position that Sylvain wore. Without defense, she huffed, pushing herself further away from the table. Sylvain laughed. Being laughed at was not a pleasant feeling and Byleth felt a twist in her gut. As a child, she had been laughed at many times but felt nothing except a veil of confusion. She quickly realized, however, that his laugh was kind, not cruel. Despite herself, she chuckled.

“That’s better.” Sylvain said proudly.

He reached for his glass of wine and tipped back the remainder. Byleth stared down at her wine glass – still on the first. It was mostly full. Whenever she had taken a sip, the headache had bloomed further so she had opted to avoid it almost entirely. Seeing her eyeline, Sylvain gestured to it as he grabbed the neck off the wine bottle.

“You better finish that,” He said. “Unless you want to be walking around with a wine glass.”

She looked at him, clearly confused.

“Oh we’re going for a walk.” He explained as he stood. “Fresh air does the body good.”

Byleth often forgot that stars existed, she realized with a hint of embarrassment. She seldom cared to look considering she was often wading through conversations, battle plans and reports, well into the evening. But then, as she and Sylvain stood in the courtyard at the top of the monastery, she allowed herself to look. To see the constellations and distant colours. Jeralt’s voice hummed in her memories as he explained the histories of the constellations he knew. The Warrior and the Prince always caught her attention as a child. Something about the way that one grouping seemed to so clearly represent two individuals.

“Are they at battle?” Jeralt had said one summer night when she was a child as they lay on bedrolls, the campfire long extinguished. “Are they in love? The answer was lost long ago.”

The sentiment had stayed with her. The duality of conflict and emotion had been something that echoed throughout her life, as though it were trying to eek out some sort of emotion from her. As she stood with Sylvain, the impression only became deeper, although she still did not feel satisfied.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Dimitri. He was once a prince, now a lost king. The figure in the sky seemed to morph into Dimitri’s image the more she stared. Long, slim and deadly. She wondered where he was now.

The wine bottle appeared before her and, to quiet some of her thoughts, Byleth took a hearty sip. Pain split through her skull so Byleth took another sip. And another. It wasn’t until a single drop rolled from the bottle onto her tongue did she realize that she had finished it. Sylvain chuckled, a mix of surprise and respect.

“Didn’t think you were much of a drinker.” Sylvain said as he took the bottle from her.

“I’m not.” Byleth said, stunned. “I just- I have a headache and it won’t go away.”

“Don’t think more wine will help that,” Sylvain remarked before continuing. “Speaking from experience.”

Byleth looked at Sylvain, arms crossed. It was dark out but a few lanterns lit the courtyard. His features were hazy but recognizable.

“Did you drink as an academy student?” She asked, a bit of humour in her voice. “You should know that was strictly against the rules.”

Sylvain raised his hands in defeat.

“I will claim protection in numbers, _professor_.” He added emphasis on her former title. “A few of us would sneak out – especially after exams – to relax, you know? Get some air.”

“And to do completely wholesome and innocent activities with students of the opposite gender, no doubt.” She teased.

Sylvain bumped his shoulder into her as a way of harmlessly protecting himself. She found herself a bit uneasy on her feet; whether it was the wine or the ever pervasive headache, she could not say.

“Once,” Sylvain began. “A few of us snuck out. It was later fall, I think. We went down to the creek bed near the village. I think Dorothea had charmed a merchant out of a bottles of wine… Wow, this seems so long ago now.”

His voice was distant and warm as he recalled the details of the evening. Byleth gazed at him.

“Who else was there?” She asked, simply curious.

He sucked in a breath as he recalled.

“A lot of the Golden Deer house, they were always down to party. Man, Hilda could not hold her liquor.” He explained with a laugh. “Ingrid because she always had to supervise me. Somehow, he got Ashe that night and-“ Realization dawned on him. “And somehow I talked _Dimitri_ into coming. How the hell I managed that, I will never know.”

Byleth let out a shocked noise and he nodded with her.

“I can only imagine poor Dedue trying to keep up with that.” Byleth mused.

“You have no idea!” He exclaimed. “And Mr. Prince managed to get himself knocked off his feet with a few sips of wine. His face was all red the whole night.” He paused, suddenly somber at the memory. “Talked about you a lot.”

“Me?” Byleth asked without meaning to.

Sylvain was frowning then, as though he remembered the state of the soon-to-be king. Byleth began to feel her bones begin to warm as the wine made its way through her. In fact, her head began to feel warm, her fingers, her toes. She felt suddenly very light but kept her feet firmly planted. She had been injured in battle too many times to be knocked down by simply feeling faint. She knew, if she were truthful, that she was desperate in a sad sort of way to hear stories of old Dimitiri. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t lost to her. She clung onto reality with white knuckle fear, even as the Pulse extracted itself from her with suddenly urgency. She wanted to listen.

“Yeah,” Sylvain scratched at the side of his face where a faint ginger scruff was always present. “Went on about how capable and smart you were. He recounted battled tactics as though he had studied them. You would think he had a crush on you or something.”

“He did.” Byleth said and she realized that her voice felt very distant to her.

She recognized Sylvain’s shock only slightly. Some part of her panicked that she would so easily admit something so closely guarded but nothing felt real then. She knew his feelings because he had told her as much. She recalled the warmth in Dimitri’s eyes when he had looked at her, the way he reveled in being complimented. The way he rushed to her after battle, the concern mingled with frustrated fear when she was injured. His smell – faintly floral from high grade noble soap. She could practically see him, despite the aura that radiated her vision. Everything was hazy and distant that it could have very well been a dream. Her eyes went to the stars. She found them to be swimming in the darkness.

“Byleth,” Sylvain’s shock quickly turned to concern. “Byleth, are you okay?”

“Fine,” She said on impulse but she knew she wasn’t.

At first she tipped but Sylvain caught her before she could fall. Then, her dinner came up all at once. What a shame, such a waste. She could faintly hear Sylvain repeating her name over and over. As she fell into unconsciousness, she thought she heard Dimitri in the mingled confusion but knew it couldn’t be so. As the last the tendrils of the Pulse ripped away, Byleth lost all awareness and slipped into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very quickly, I want to mention that I found a couple small continuity errors in the first chapter. These have been corrected so apologies for the confusion.
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I was at PAX this weekend and just got back yesterday. The response on the first chapter was lovely and I thank you all for the comments, subscriptions and kudos. Truthfully, I was shocked! My job is about far removed from creative as you can possibly be (think: office and spreadsheets) so it was really heartening to see the response. It motivated to try extra hard to keep going! Once again, please feel free to comment with your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long while since I've written anything. Hope you enjoy and feel free to leave a comment letting me know your thoughts!


End file.
